


Morning, Beautiful

by GrimSister21



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Adorable, Character Study, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning Sex, Orgasm, Past Rape/Non-con, Schmoop, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:11:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimSister21/pseuds/GrimSister21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wake up with your head on his chest, mind still dizzy from a good night’s sleep. And the first thing that comes to you is how comforting is the warmth he’s radiating. His chest is wide and muscular and covered with hair that always fascinated you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning, Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



You wake up with your head on his chest, mind still dizzy from a good night’s sleep. And the first thing that comes to you is how comforting is the warmth he’s radiating. His chest is wide and muscular and covered with hair that always fascinated you. You claimed that chest as your pillow a long time ago, even though you two have more than enough of those. It just… feels right to sleep on him like that, listening to the slight snores and his heart, beating a soothing rhythm in your ear.

The next thing you feel is safety. His strong arms (Arms that you love to admire in your spare time, and that you’ve enjoyed viewing from afar for far too long) wrapped around you, as if to keep you away from all that is evil in this world. He hold you, even in his sleep. Not because he’s afraid you’ll slip away again, but to assure you that, yes, he is here. He’s not going anywhere. He does it because he feels like he needs to protect you. You both know that you’re not some poor, defenseless maiden that needs his rescuing. You’ve proven that you can hold your own more than enough times. And yet he still insists on keeping you close, safe. It's a sweet sentiment that does bother you at some times. But now, you love it. Those big hands on the small of your back, arms holding you close as if someone might try to snatch you away in his sleep. It feels good. Feels secure. He'll never harm you. Not on purpose. He's a good man. Perhaps a bit foolhardy. Carver jokes and says he's like a huge teddy bear. He has no idea how right he is.

The third thing coursing through your sleep-hazed mind is the feeling: happiness. You marvel at the feeling. You have yet to grow accustomed to it, and you let this odd thing bubble in your chest. It’s a weird feeling, as if your heart wishes to spread wings and soar through the sky while still in it’s place. A long time ago, you were sure you would never be feeling something like this. And you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

He wakes up with a low hum that vibrates through his wide chest to your ear and kisses the top of your head, smiling with content. Those wrinkles of laughter you like so much deepening. He almost always starts the morning like that, always happy to discover you’re still by his side. “I love you so, so much,” he whispers to you with a goofy, half- awake grin.

You smile in return and let out a little voice of contentment, letting your eyes drift close again.

“Don’t move,” you rasp at him. You’re voice is even huskier than usual and you can practically feel that silly grin of his widening. “You’re warm.”

He makes a voice of approval and those great, marvelous hands just move up and down to caress your back lovingly, nearly soothing you back to sleep. You kiss the freckles that hide on his chest, a souvenir from the time he lived in a small farm in Lothering. You love tracing patterns between the marks of sun kissed skin, marking each little cinnamon colored dot with your lips.

You can feel his eyes on you, hear the soft chuckle he lets out as you nuzzle against his neck. There was a time when you didn't believe that laughter during sex was possible. Maker, there was a time you didn't understand why people had sex voluntary. You never felt that attraction towards anyone you've shared a bed with. 

“Maker,” he trails big, surprisingly gentle fingers against your jaw line. “I must be the luckiest man in all of Thedas.”

To be honest, you think that's untrue. **You** must be the luckiest man in all of Thedas. Sharing a bed with a man that cares for you and treasures you like this, treating you as an equal. Not being treated as the living weapon that you are, or valued for the ridiculous amounts of lyrium that is burned into your flesh. He doesn't value those things. Not as much as he values you as a person. He loves every bit of you. For all your stubbornness, for all your pride, for better and worse. To him, you're a bigger marvel then any treasure this world or the next has to offer. And all that just by being yourself.  

You rise a little to steal a good morning kiss, ignoring your terrible morning breath. Hawke's beard prickling against your bare cheeks and you can't help but feel joy to that fact.

You feel his heavy arms on your shoulders, and know what's about to happen before it actually does: the kiss deepens as Hawke flips the both of you, careful not to squish you under his large frame. He is always so tender, always aware of his size and strength. He does his best not to hurt anyone on purpose. Well, anyone that doesn't deserve it.

You can feel him hardening against your thighs, and you feel a sudden urge to feel it within you.  Your own morning wood turning in actual arousal."May I?" He asks when you two finally part. Still grinning like a love struck fool, you nod. 

This is another thing you love about him: He always asks for your permission. If you were to refuse, he'll just laugh it off and leave you be. Perhaps snuggle with you until the two of you fall back to sleep. You know he'll never force himself on you.

It's one of the things you adore about him: Hawke knows he can be a better man and as such, he does his best to improve himself. You know he blames himself for many things. So much that perhaps, he might be blind to the good he's done. Without him, you never would have escaped Danarius, Aveline would never have married Donnic, Isabela would have been killed by Castilian or converted into the Qun, Kirkwall would have been taken by Qunari, Orana would have died, Hadriana would still live…

He takes his time. He taught you how to slow down during, how to linger and just… enjoy the moment. savor it. He moves from your lips to your jawline, and from that spot to your neck, to that sensitive spot behind your earlobe. You let out a small moan and can feel his smile widen as he nuzzles against your neck. His hand are everywhere: pinching your nipples, stroking your stomach, groping your ass, rubbing your neck. 

You tangle your fingers in those soft, inky locks and let him continue to mark his territory. He’s still biting your neck when those hands make their way to your opening, working you up and making you whimper with want. You’re still pleasantly sore from last night, but to be honest, you don’t give a damn.

He makes sure you’re all oiled up before entering you and asks before you: “You alright?”

You nod again, a little shakier this time. “Move,” you urge him, locking your hands around his neck. He’s big. Very big. He fills you up in the best possible way and it feels incredible. “Move, damn you.”

He laughs. A deep sound that vibrates through every fiber of his being and causes you to let out another whine. “You’re in a hurry?” he snickers, nibbling the shell of your ear with that smartass mouth of his. You’re about to give him a snippy answer when he starts rolling his hips in a slow, lazy rhythm. It’s sloppy and messy and feels absolutely fantastic. His skin is damp from sweat and sticky from sleep, and he looks so beautiful and wild when he’s on top of you like that, concentrated on his own satisfaction. He’s eager to pleasure the both of you. You can tell by the way the hands brush against your ribs and the hot air in your ear and pants and moans you make, even though you try your best to conceal them. He gasps as you keep moving against him, pace quickening. Each thrust touching your prostate, bringing you closer to release. 

He rubs a thumb against your bottom lip and you realize you've been biting it without thinking. "Harder," you manage, clawing his shoulder and the back of his head. He's more then glad to obliged, reaching to stroke you, helping that heat in your abdomen grow more and more, until it becomes this delicious sensation that you've never felt with anyone else. Your spent splashes on your belly and his hand, but you couldn't care less.

Yes, you have had others before Hawke. But as a slave, the focus was never on your release. It was on Danarius', or Hadriana's, or whomever Danarius lent you to. It was never your choice, never your decision.

He's not too far behind: a few more hard thrusts and you feel him leak inside you before collapsing on top of you. You can't but smirk and ran your fingers through the black messy strands as you both try to regain your breath.

"Maker... We should do this more often," he breathes against your neck. His hot breath tickles your throat. 

"Maybe if the Champion of Kirkwall did not need to personally supervise that this blighted city won't fall apart, we would," you tease. This is true; it seems like half of the time Hawke is out there, trying to fix other people's problems. He lets out a soft chuckle.

"I believe that right now, the champion is only needed to cuddle a very broody, very handsome elf." He rests his head on your shoulder, stated and purring like a giant cat.

"I believe you'll manage." You kiss the damp forehead. In response, the wrinkles around his eye deepen again before he lets his eyes slip shut, smirk still in place. 

He's warm and you can feel by his breath that he isn't quite asleep. You love him, more than anything, and you can't imagine living without him. You nuzzle against his forehead; hand is still in his hair as you let yourself drift back to sleep.


End file.
